How To Survive
by Starla
Summary: After 'Happy Anniversary', The Host attempts to get Angel to call Buffy. B/A


  
Title: How to Survive 1/1  
Author: Starla  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt own everything. I'm just having  
some fun.  
Distribution: Sure, go ahead, take it. Just send me an address.  
Spoilers: That'd be a yes - especially up to & including Blood Ties/Happy  
Anniversary  
Author's Notes: I started this ages ago, just decided to finish it. This is set  
before the guys know the Host's name is Lorne, so in this, he's just the Host.  
Some of it might be a bit hazy; it's been a while since I watched the eps. I'm  
not entirely sure I like this fic. I think Angel is a bit out of character, or  
something. I don't know. Let me know.   
Feedback: Is very much appreciated. (throwmywalrus@b... or  
fuzzylittlepackrat@h...)  
  
*^*^*  
  
"You wanna know what I think?"   
  
I looked over at the Host, sighing internally. "Is there anything you think  
that you *don't* say?" I asked him, thinking of Cordelia, of her smile, of her  
sometimes clueless lack of tact. I missed her, suddenly, an aching burn in  
place of the calm emptiness that had consumed me in recent weeks.   
  
Predictably, he ignored my question. "I think you should call her."   
  
I looked at him in surprise. "Cordelia?"  
  
"Well, her too, but I was talking about the other one. Y'know, the lover that  
inspired all that bones and ash talk."   
  
"You want me to call Darla." I said flatly, disbelieving.   
  
"Oh, don't tell me you're that naive," The Host replied, waving one  
long-fingered green hand dismissively.  
  
I glared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Temperamental? Me?  
  
"You don't really believe that you are in love with Darla, do you?"   
  
I looked away. No, I wasn't in love with Darla. I.... I could never be in love  
with her...Not really... Not like... "I did love her."  
  
"That, my friend," he said, looking at me knowingly, "Is a completely different  
thing."  
  
I sighed, and stubbed my toe in the dirt distractedly. "I don't really want to  
be talking about this with you."  
  
"So talk about it with her," he advised reasonably, "What's her name again?"  
  
I looked at the doorway of the Caritas darkly, not even glancing at him. "Why  
are you asking me? Obviously you already know."  
  
"I'm just worried that you're forgetting about her."   
  
I really didn't want to be discussing her. I'd gone to so much trouble not to  
think about her...trying not to think about *anybody*, but especially not  
*her*...she was a weakness, an addiction... I'd relied on her, on her image,  
for strength in the past, and I just...I couldn't any more. I couldn't let  
myself be weak that way.   
  
I didn't want to need anyone.  
  
The days and nights had been passing relentlessly, blurring by one after the  
other, and I'd completely lost track of the date. I spent weeks not knowing  
what day, or even what month it was...but that morning...I'd woken up, and just  
known.   
  
It was her birthday.   
  
"I've tried," I murmured finally, "I've tried to forget. It's...harder. Than  
anything."  
  
"So don't try to forget. Seems to me, you should be holding on to that one."   
  
"I can't... I can't hurt her that way."   
  
"You can't even *say* her *name*," The Host told me, leaning back against my  
car, "You don't think that would hurt her?"  
  
"I can say her name," I responded immediately.   
  
"Really."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then why won't you?"  
  
"Maybe I don't want to!"  
  
"You're afraid. You're afraid that if you say her name, all those carefully  
erected walls will just come a'tumblin' down, and you'll be exposed again, as  
the big fluffy teddy bear we all know you really are," he taunted, his voice  
dripping and curving around the words in a way that irritated me.   
  
"I'm not a teddy bear, and I'm not afraid," I growled, scowling into the  
darkness.   
  
"It's okay to be afraid, you know."  
  
"I'm not afraid!" I said, aiming for calm, but failing miserably when my voice  
cracked and venom spilled through.   
  
"So, what? You just don't care any more? You used to think about her all the  
time. Now, she's nothing to you. Nothing."  
  
"Buffy could never be nothing!" I said, turning to him, furious, and then  
realised what he'd just tricked me into doing.  
  
Sneaky little bastard.   
  
"Feels good, doesn't it? Just to say her name? Buf-fy. Just sorta rooolls off  
the tongue."  
  
I didn't answer him. The muscles in my shoulders, my back, were suddenly all  
coiled, tense, and my fists flexed at my side. How *dare* he? How dare he  
bring her into this? How dare he bring her back to me?  
  
"Say it again," he prompted gleefully.   
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, come on, you know you want to!"  
  
"Look, you really don't know anything about us, so just drop it! Go counsel  
someone who gives a damn! Go listen to people mutilate energetic 80's pop! I  
just want to be left *alone*."  
  
I was vaguely aware that in that moment, I sounded just like her.   
  
"Say it."  
  
"I-"  
  
"Just be a man and say it!"   
  
"I'm not a man, and that's the whole fucking problem!"  
  
"Bet she doesn't see it that way."  
  
"I don't think you're in a position to make that judgement. You don't know her.  
You haven't even met her."  
  
"So much of her is in *you*, I don't actually *have* to meet her."   
  
My hands shook, and I pressed them against the side of my car to try and cease  
the trembling. "Can't you just leave me *alone*?" I whined, closing my eyes, my  
head swimming with her.   
  
"Say. Her. Name."  
  
"Buffy," I whispered, unable to stop myself, images of her dancing behind my  
eyes. "Her name is Buffy. Are you happy?"  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Not at all," I responded, swallowing back the acid that was invading my  
throat, "I'm not allowed to be, remember?"  
  
"Say her name again," The Host advised, looking at me, "It will make you feel  
better."  
  
"Her name is Buffy Anne Summers. When she was a kid, she tried to change it to  
Sally Denise when some girls in her class picked on her." I looked down at my  
shaking hands, which were now clasped tightly in front of me. "They said it was  
a dog's name. She hated it right up until she started High School." I looked at  
him dully, "Thankyou, for ripping open this wound. I'll just go back to the  
hell that is my existence, now, and try not the think about the fact that the  
fucking sunshine - *my* fucking sunshine - is currently only a 2 hour drive  
away, fucking *her* fucking sunshine. Thanks. Heaps. Really."  
  
"No problem, big fella. You can go now, if you want."  
  
For some insane reason, I stayed. I couldn't seem to leave.   
  
"I've never known you to swear that much," he said thoughtfully, "Never really  
pictured you as the type."  
  
"I'm just beyond caring," I sighed. "I'm...I mean, I'm not... I have nothing."  
  
"Phooey." he responded immediately, "You've still got her. You'll always have  
her."  
  
"You're very much wrong," I whispered, "Buffy...She... She doesn't...There's  
someone else, now."  
  
"Doesn't mean that she loves you any less," he told me reasonably. "I still say  
you should call her."  
  
"Not...Call Buffy?... Now's not a good time," I say, even though there was a  
voice, in my head, whispering that there never would be a good time for us.  
"It's her birthday."  
  
"I know."  
  
I turn to look at him suspiciously, "How?"  
  
"From your mind, silly."  
  
"I haven't sung in a long while," I said darkly, glaring at him.  
  
"Some people have to sing to bare their souls. You get the same effect just by  
saying her name."  
  
I watched a group of demons flooding out of the Caritas' entrance. "Then you  
know why I can't call *today*, of all days."  
  
"Because you're a big whining coward?"  
  
"It's been *3* *years* since I was allowed to touch her," I was suddenly so  
unbelievably tired. "3 years, and it doesn't get easier. I'm as weak as I've  
ever been." I sighed, frustrated. "Everything has been so...empty... lately. So  
dark and cold...If I... If I get a glimpse, just a *taste* of that sunshine,  
I'm going to want to bathe in it...immerse myself in it. And if I do, it'll  
destroy her. I'm not strong enough to ward off temptation."  
  
"It's just a phone call!" The Host exclaimed, throwing his hands up in  
irritation, "People make them all the time. It's not as if you're going to  
somehow defy the laws of physics and end up in Sunnydale with her just by  
making a phone call!"  
  
"But I'll want to! I'll *want* to be in Sunnydale with her."  
  
"You already *do*," He reminded me, "You already want to be there with her,  
now."  
  
I had no reply to that. He was right, I knew. I just... I couldn't call her. I  
wouldn't. "Why do you care so much?" I asked, angry, "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"Because she's your anchor to the lighter side of the force!" He told me,  
rolling his eyes. "I don't want to think about what will happen if you let her  
go, the way you want to." The demon leaned back against my car. "She's the last  
tie holding you to the home team, and you're trying to make her go away. You  
want to stop fighting, but, you know what? We need you. She needs you."  
  
"I'm not trying to stop fighting," I argued, "I'm just focussing on the bigger  
picture."  
  
"I'm not talking about physical fighting, not about bitch slapping and  
fisticuffs. I'm talking the soul. Your soul isn't fighting against your demon.  
You can't let the demon take over too much. You need to be strong."  
  
"I *am* being strong!" I replied angrily, "This is me being strong!"   
  
"No, this is you wimping out. This is you giving up."  
  
//Strong is *fighting*! It's hard, and it's everyday! //  
  
Buffy's voice rang in my mind, and I could almost see her eyes before me,  
half-filled with steely determination, half pleading with me like a little  
girl, begging me not to die, not to leave her. Begging me to fight with her.  
  
"I'm just so tired," I said finally, rubbing my aching temples with my  
fingertips.   
  
"Call her," He told me simply, and then walked away, into Caritas.  
  
I sighed, and looked at my watch.  
  
3 years ago, right around this very time, I was losing my soul.   
  
Now, a couple of hundred tears and 2 angsty sewer talks later, I was trying to  
get it back.  
  
*^*^*^*  
  
It was 8 in the morning, 2 days later, when I finally worked up the nerve to  
call.  
  
As the phone rang, I steeled myself for the pain it would cause to hear her  
voice again... Hear her soft, musical sighs slipping and sliding into my head  
like fresh, cool water. I wasn't expecting much from the call - In fact, I had  
pretty much decided that the second she recognised my voice, she'd hang up  
without hesitation - but, even so, a tingling ball of anticipation had settled  
in my stomach. I'd let down lots of walls, that night, and all this longing for  
her had just spilled forth, sliding over all my other current troubles and  
woes... blanketing them, for the moment.  
  
I panicked as the ringing stopped and someone picked up. For the first time, my  
mind realised that maybe it *wouldn't* be Buffy who picked up. Riley's image  
flashed in my mind, and I wondered, for a desperate moment, what I would do if  
he picked up. Maybe he and Buffy were lying in bed at that very moment,  
enjoying the afterglow of post-birthday sex... I felt a growl rumbling in my  
chest, my jealous side begging to be let free...but I repressed the growl,  
swallowing, pushing away the image of Buffy, my sweet, sensual Buffy, her face  
flushed, her sweat matted hair hanging in contented eyes, her head pillowed on  
Riley's bare chest.   
  
I was only slightly relieved when a distinctly female voice floated down the  
line.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
It was Joyce, and my chest tightened, fearing her response to me. I bet she  
just loved Riley, with his wholesome, Joe-normal good looks, and his  
all-American jock charm. Just the sort of boy you bring home to mother. She  
wouldn't even mind the fact that he was a bigoted ignoramus, because, Hey! He's  
alive, gosh darnit, and, in the end, isn't that more important than anything?  
  
Okay, I can admit, I made some harsh snap judgements about Riley. I think I  
should get points for not killing him, anyway.  
  
"Hello Joyce," I said quietly, "It's Angel. Is Buffy about?"  
  
I sounded a lot calmer than I actually felt, in a really creepy way.   
  
"Angel," Joyce responded, clearly surprised, "I - Yes, she's around here  
somewhere."   
  
There were voices, then, muffled, but clear enough for me to understand that it  
was Joyce ordering Dawn to go get Buffy.   
  
"How have you been?" Joyce asked, a little too politely.  
  
"Do you care?" I replied before I could stop myself, and then sighed. "Sorry."  
  
"No, it's - It's okay." She sounded a little shaken.  
  
"Really, I'm sorry." I felt like an ass. Buffy would probably kill me, if she'd  
been around to hear that. "I - Things aren't really okay." There was an awkward  
pause, before I stuttered, "How have you been?"  
  
"I'm much better, thanks."  
  
Better? Better than what?   
  
Before I could ask her, she spoke again, "Oh, here's Buffy. I'll put her on."  
  
I heard Buffy ask her mother who it was, but she didn't seem to get an answer,  
because when she spoke into the telephone, her voice was cheerfully curious.   
  
"Hello, mystery caller," She said in a voice that sounded so much like Xander  
in that moment that I just wanted to laugh. Or possibly cry.   
  
"Hey," I responded softly. "It's - "  
  
"Angel," she whispered, shock colouring her tone.   
  
"Yeah." I confirmed. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Happy Birthday."   
  
Silence greeted my words, and my hands started to shake a little. "Is this a  
bad time? Because I can..."  
  
"No!" She said quickly, and I relaxed a little, "I'm just surprised, I  
suppose."  
  
"Yeah," I agreed, "Me too."  
  
I heard the sound of her laughter, and I groaned, realising how stupid that  
sounded. "Sorry," I said, shaking my head, "I just... I guess I'm a  
little...nervous." Okay, that wasn't too painful. "I...It's a long time since  
we've talked, you know? And things weren't really... I mean, I kicked your  
boyfriend's ass." I gulped. Probably not the best thing to remind her of.  
"Which, you know, he completely started. And if he wasn't such a weakling, it  
wouldn't...." I trailed off, kicking myself. Of all the times to turn off my  
internal editor....  
  
"You *are* nervous," Buffy chuckled, her amusement obvious.   
  
"I guess it's because I know I'm the last person you want to be hearing from,"  
I sighed.   
  
"I wouldn't say that," she said softly, "I mean, there's always that crazy guy  
at the newsstand who has developed an unhealthy fascination with my ass...."  
  
I growled, and she laughed.   
  
" Seriously, it's good to hear from you," she murmured after a moment, "I  
worry."  
  
I was touched, and let the silence hang between us for a moment. "I worry too."  
  
"I know."   
  
"I... I don't want to cause problems between you and Riley, so if this is a  
problem, I'll just -"  
  
"Stop trying to get out of talking to me about whatever it is you called me to  
talk about," she said flatly, and I could picture the roll of her eyes, the  
slight shifting of her tiny body.   
  
"I'm not!" I lied. "Really. I just don't want Riley to-"  
  
"Forget about Riley." Buffy said softly, "He's not... He left me."  
  
Oh.   
  
"I'm sorry," I said, half-sincerely. I mean, I hated that she was hurting, that  
she was in any kind of pain...but I couldn't help but feel a small measure of  
joy at the fact that he wasn't with her any more, loving her, touching her,  
making love to her. It was one thing to tell her to move on, another thing  
completely to be able to put a face on the lover she took. I saw their faces,  
sometimes, in my nightmares.   
  
She snorted. "Sure."  
  
"I am," I told her insistently, "I didn't like him, but he seemed to make you  
happy...and that's all I ever wanted for you."  
  
"It just...wasn't meant to be between him and I."   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, wondering if I could really hear all  
about her relationship with   
him without doing some serious damage to the furniture around me.  
  
"He knew I didn't love him. Not much else to say, really," She said simply.  
"I'm more worried about you."  
  
She didn't love him.   
  
She was more worried about *me*.   
  
Calling her was making me feel better already.   
  
"It's nothing," I said, sighing. Despite the weight that had been taken off my  
shoulders by her admission, I couldn't bring myself to spill... I just didn't  
know how she'd react. Negatively, was my guess.  
  
"Something voice." she replied matter-of-factly.   
  
"Just wanted to hear your voice?" I offered lamely.   
  
She snorted in a very unladylike manner, and for a moment I felt my stomach  
bottom out. I thought of one of the songs I'd heard Caritas customers  
mutilating, and had to smile.  
  
//Every little thing she does is magic...//  
  
I can't believe I was going all gooey just because she snorted. I'm pathetic.   
  
"Angel," she said warningly. Her tone indicated that she would brook no more of  
my subject skirting.   
  
I groaned. "Things have been crappy, lately, that's all."  
  
I heard the click of a door shutting, which probably meant she'd taken the  
phone into her room. There was a faint rustling as she settled on the bed, and  
I knew she was hugging something - her knees, a cushion, my old buddy Mr.  
Gordo... I knew her so well, had watched her in that room so much, that I could  
visualise every move she was making as if she were right before me.   
  
"Crappy how?"  
  
I took a deep, troubled, utterly unneeded breath, and swallowed.   
  
//I can walk like a man, but I'm not one...//  
  
"Angel, talk to me," she pleaded, and I gave in, as I always did when she used  
that tone of voice.  
  
"There's this law firm," I told her, leaning back in my chair. "Wolfram &  
Hart... They're sort of... They're like Satan if he spent several years at  
Harvard."   
  
"That bad?"  
  
"Worse," I said bitterly, "They've made me their pet project."  
  
Her worry was almost tangible, even through the phone line, but she didn't say  
anything, just let me speak.   
  
"I...I don't really know why they've chosen me in particular... I guess I  
caused some trouble for them... killed some of their important clients,  
thwarted some of their carefully laid out plans...They were the ones who hired  
Faith to kill me."  
  
She grunted and muttered something unintelligible under her breath, and then  
she came back to me. "Sorry...issues."  
  
"Things got... intense...a couple a months ago. The objective isn't to kill me  
any more...just to drive me over the edge."  
  
"They want you evil," Buffy said, her voice full of dread and worry for me.   
  
"I think so," I confirmed. "Maybe just crazy. I don't really know.  
They're...They brought Darla back from the dead, Buffy. Back from the fucking  
dead."  
  
My head fell forward of it's own volition, and I cradled it in my hands.  
  
//Make it better, Buffy, please, make me strong again, make it stop, make it  
stop, please, Buffy, make it stop...//  
  
"Darla?" she whispered disbelieving, "Oh, god, Angel."  
  
"Yeah," I said bitterly, "She was human."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, seemingly lost for words. She'd never called me  
that before, and it was almost surreal hearing it from her lips, but it was...  
comforting. I needed her, I needed to be coddled and cared for and wrapped in  
her arms and her words and her scent and her voice until all there was was  
her... I wanted all the things I'd given up when I came here, to LA, to fight,  
and rage, and wage war against evil. I wanted to be wrapped up in her, rather  
than here, alone, fighting a battle I could never win.  
  
//I sold your love...down the river, for a bow and arrow...//  
  
"When she first came back, I had all these dreams...I was...obsessed. Addicted  
to her, to the dreams. I... I didn't know she was alive, then. I just sort of  
thought I was losing it." I started trembling again, my voice hoarse and  
cracking. "I... I'd dreamed about her, before, but...never like that... I never  
dreamed of anyone but you like that..."  
  
"What happened in the dreams?" she asked me calmly, and I hoped she wouldn't be  
upset...  
  
"I love you," I said, nervously trying the pre-emptively placate her.  
  
"'Fess up, Angel."  
  
"It was like she was my wife," I murmured. "Some of them were very...  
domestic."  
  
"I'm assuming by 'domestic' you mean that there was lots of sex in that special  
'we picked out bed linen together' kind of way?" she asked dryly, not sounding  
too amused by the thought.   
  
"Something like that," I replied. "She.. She took care of me."  
  
I heard Buffy's sigh, and wished for the feel of her by my side, the smell of  
her, with renewed desperation.   
  
"You were lonely," Buffy said, a statement. "You wanted someone to understand  
you."  
  
"I - I suppose, yeah," I stammered. "I don't really know what I feel."  
  
"That's okay," she told me softly, "You don't always have to be strong, you  
know."  
  
"I think - I think that's what she said."  
  
"Let me amend that," Buffy said after a moment's hesitation, "You don't have to  
be strong on your own. You can be strong amongst others."  
  
I was silent, thinking of my ex-employees -//friends//- and how I couldn't seem  
to let myself be helped by them.   
  
I guess I was silent for too long, because I could almost see Buffy's narrowed  
eyes before me as she enquired suspiciously, "Angel?"  
  
"I sort of -" I stopped abruptly, feeling a familiar wash of guilt slide over  
me.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I fired the guys, okay?" I said shortly.   
  
She sighed again, and I could feel her worry like a tangible thing in the air  
around me. "Why?"  
  
"They didn't get it. They don't get that I *have to do this*."  
  
"Have you tried talking to them about it?"  
  
"I didn't think they'd be very receptive," I told her glumly, "They were very  
into inquiring about my sanity when this whole thing started."  
  
"Try again, Angel," she pleaded, "You need them."  
  
"I...I don't know if I can talk to them about this."  
  
"You're not going to hurt them by letting them help you, you know. That  
darkness inside you isn't going to kill them."  
  
"You know me too well," I sighed, feeling a little bit relieved by the fact  
that I didn't have to come out and tell her what I was so afraid of.  
  
"Yeah, well, you do it to me all the time. And I do it to everyone around me,  
too."  
  
"It's hard when you don't really understand what's inside yourself," I said  
softly, knowing she understood perfectly. Knowing it was hard for her, too.  
  
"Yeah," she said.   
  
There was a moment of contemplative silence, which hovered across the line like  
a blanket.   
  
"Angel?" she asked finally.   
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Do you... Never mind, it's stupid."  
  
"Buffy."  
  
"Do you wanna get together sometime? Sometime soon?" she sighed, "I know with  
our track record it's probably not a good idea, but you've got me all worried  
about you now, and I'll keep freaking out til I can talk to you. Besides...  
I've missed you. Like, heaps. Like more than Riley, and he only just left, so  
I'm thinking maybe I never cared about him as much as I thought I did. And I  
need a break anyway...things have been... intense... here."  
  
I knew it wasn't a good idea, but I couldn't seem to make myself turn down the  
offer.   
  
"I... yeah, I'd like that. Love that, actually."   
  
"Ok, so... call me. And promise me you'll try to talk to Cordy and Wes...and  
that other guy Cordy mentioned...Rifle?"  
  
I chuckled, "Gunn."  
  
"Whatever. Talk to them. Promise me."  
  
I frowned, clenching my fist. "I'll try."   
  
"Promise?"  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"Promise on your life. No, wait, I know you better than that. Promise on *my*  
life."  
  
"No!" I exclaimed, horrified. I don't deal too well with any kind of reference  
to Buffy's death.   
  
"Angel..."  
  
I sighed yet again. "I promise, okay? I'll talk to them."  
  
"Good. We'll work through some of my issues next time, k? There's this whole  
deal with Dawn I wanna talk to you about."  
  
"I'll call you."  
  
"Okay. Cya, Achmed. Don't brood too much, and give yourself a break. I love  
you."  
  
I think that hearing that from her lips probably improved my mood as much as  
the rest of the conversation put together. I was feeling better than I had in  
ages.  
  
"I love you too, Buffy," I whispered, and then hung up.  
  
I could make it. I could. I wasn't gonna let Wolfram and Hart bring me down.  
  
//I will survive...as long as I know how to love I know I'll be alive...//  
  
Yeah, it was war... and my best weapon was love and light.  
  
I would survive.   
  
END  
  
  



End file.
